Send in the Clown
by Yuri Gagarin
Summary: A man tired with the status quo decides to do something about it...I.E. the rise of the Joker. Set during Batman Begins.


It's called FanFiction...I don't own the rights to this stuff.

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Prologue?

There was that distinct click you hear in the movies as he pulled the slide back. The gun trembled slightly in his hand as he raised it to the desired target. It could have been the fact that he had never held a gun before in his life or, more than likely, the fact he was pointing it at his own temple. When it comes to suicide, self-preservation will fight a person tooth and nail until the situation resolves itself.

Here was a man who was tired. Tired of all the apathy that surrounded him. Gotham had been a cesspool long before he had arrived in the city but nobody was doing anything to make it better: or worse for that matter. The populous just waited for the doors of opportunity to open, even though they knew that all of them were unlocked. Everyone; the mobsters, the police, the civilians, the government were content with the status quo. Before he arrived, he had been told, by people who have been, that Gotham was one of the most lively and interesting places to be in all of America. However what he found when he arrived was neither interesting nor alive. The stagnation sickened him. But it wasn't just Gotham, it had been like this everywhere he had gone. People stuck to the status quo and waited for something to happen as if one day it was all going to fall out of the sky and save them.

No matter how hard he tried he never seemed to fit into this "modern society" and after years of indifference to this he finally he decided to take action. He decided not live in this world any longer. However that was the past and he had more important issues to tackle, like the way he was currently holding the gun. His arm felt way too awkward holding the pistol against his right temple. He passed it over to his left hand and tried the other temple but still he didn't get that vibe he was searching for. He placed the pistol in his mouth but still it didn't feel right. He twisted it clockwise and then counter-clockwise, nothing. He pulled the Glock from his mouth and examined it. He deduced that something may be wrong with the bullet. Casually, he removed the magazine and placed it on the coffee table. Taking another bullet from the box of ammo, he carefully loaded it into the magazine and slid it back into the gun. He pulled the slide back again, ejecting the perfectly useful bullet that had occupied the chamber before with, what was in his mind, a more pristine replacement. Once again there was that distinct click, only this time its ring sounded through clearer. It was sure to do the job this time.

With everything ready to go he decided to take a few minutes to prepare himself. To do so, he decided to stare at the wall and make pictures out of the curling pieces of wallpaper and bricks underneath it. The pictures ranged from faces to random landscapes to moving sequences. Finally the bliss came to an end as he snapped out of it; the thought of getting it over with was gnawing at the back of his brain like a rodent. The moment of truth having arrived, he swiftly placed the gun back into his mouth. Flop sweat was glistening off his brow like diamonds in the twilight that shown through the window. Out the window was the structural chaos of The Narrows. Beyond lay the neatly organized high-rises of downtown Gotham City; a façade that hid the true nature of this town and its inhabitants. He took one last look out at the city he had hoped to be his Mecca and released the safety. His finger was antsy on the trigger, ready to do the deed. Then there was a loud crash out in the hall. His body slightly jumped upon hearing the noise causing his head to jerk towards the disturbance. The gun when off and then there was silence.

"Hey man what the hell was that?" asked a tenant who had been chatting with the motel manager in the lobby when the gunshot rang out.

"Stay here." commanded the manager as he made his way up the stairs.

Time seemed to stop as he pulled himself back to his feat. His cheek was tingling and the taste of blood, metal and fire inhabited his skull. Blood and smoke rings poured out of both his mouth and the newly fashioned hole in his left cheek. He finally opened his eyes. The room looked exactly the same but something seemed different however he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was. It had been less than a minute since the gun had gone off but already he could hear a commotion brewing outside of his door. By now the gun had made its way to the floor, a smoke trail danced out of the muzzle. Upon seeing this, and the fact that he was still alive, a look of disappointment crept across his face. Slowly, he picked up the gun and placed it on the coffee table. He quickly tongued the wound and sighed. Frenzied knocks erupted from the door. He made his way over to the door and opened it, doing nothing to hide the gaping hole in his cheek.

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That's all I got...for now. Would You Kindly review this prologue? That would be Super Special Awesome of you! I will attempt to continue this one...for real this time!


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